


Ch-ch-ch-changes

by lalejandra



Category: due South
Genre: Canadian Wilderness, First Kiss, M/M, Post-Canon, Transformative Works Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-23
Updated: 2005-03-23
Packaged: 2019-07-14 11:24:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16039502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalejandra/pseuds/lalejandra
Summary: Ray is used to changes, and also is more interesting than an amoeba.





	Ch-ch-ch-changes

Ray can sum up his life just by saying the however many totally changing experiences he's had. Not like new agey tarot card crystal experiences, but the sort of shit that shakes a guy up, makes him re-evaluate his priorities in life. The day he met Stella, the day Stella really _saw_ him -- which was also the same day he went into a police station for the first time, which was also the day he met Welsh, a skinny beat cop with a beer gut and real thick glasses. The day his fourth grade class did square dancing instead of basketball in gym class, and the teacher told Ray that he was excellent, stellar, totally groovy.

Ray could keep going -- the day he decided to become a cop, the day he was partnered with Welsh, the day Welsh left and Ray took that undercover job at the high school, both times around with Beth Botrelle, the day he got his detective's shield, the day Stella left him, god, the whole three months around the divorce -- right up through the day he met Fraser, the day he punched Fraser in the face, that whole week, in fact, with the Henry Allen and the buddy breathing and all of it.

So it wasn't a shock for Ray to realize that his life had changed again. It changed twice, all at once. The first change was when he looked at the girls as they walked through the hotel lobby, and realized that he hadn't compared any of them to Stella -- which meant he really was over the Stella, really was ready to move on. That was kinda sad... he didn't really _want_ to be over Stella, didn't really _want_ to move on. But it was also pretty fucking great -- finally! Finally he was over Stella! Hell yeah!

But hard on the heels of that totally changing experience was another: he didn't actually want the girls. He was just looking at them because they were... they were there.

He got kinda distracted from that changing experience because then he jumped into an elevator and shit, and there was Ray Vecchio and a gun and Muldoon, and then suddenly he was in Canada, trapped in a crevasse, listening to Fraser sing about the Northwest Passage, which, frankly, sounded kinda dirty if you wanted to ask Ray, which obviously no one did, because no one did.

Once he and Fraser were trekking through Canada, though -- and make no mistake, it was a _trek_ and it was hard and it was totally not like camping out in Wisconsin with his parents -- Ray had more than enough time to think about his changing experiences back in Chicago and wonder what exactly it was that was happening now. Because when he jerked off -- not that he was doing much of that in the Great Cold Wilderness, but sometimes a guy had to do what a guy had to do behind one of the tents while Fraser was off shooting something for dinner or playing with the dogs or looking for the whatever the fuck Inuvik specialty rabbit -- he still sometimes thought about women.

But he also sometimes thought about _guys_ , and that was _new_. Ray didn't think it really counted as its own changing experience, since probably it was connected to the girls and also to Stella. Like maybe Stella had been the only woman for him and so now that he was over her, he just didn't want any women at all? That pretty much left men and dogs and horses, and Ray wasn't too much into the domesticated animals. Or not domesticated, or whatever. Animals in general that weren't of the human variety didn't turn his crank at all.

Men, though. He thought about men. He thought about arms and fingers and hands and someone else's palm on his dick and someone else's stubble on his face and someone else's short hair running through his fingers. He thought about it while he was skiing next to the dogsled and while he was steering and while he was setting up the fire, making breakfast or lunch or supper. He thought about it when they zipped their sleeping bags together, and he thought about it while Fraser slept next to him, and he thought about it while he stared at the top of their little tent and couldn't sleep. He even thought about it while Fraser was trying to talk to him about stuff.

Finally Ray just said, "Hey, Fraser, you ever think about guys?"

And Fraser said, "Pardon?"

"Guys, do you think about guys?"

"What about... guys? Something specific?" Fraser was frowning at him slightly, leaning forward toward the fire, his face red and chapped, just like Ray's. He ran his thumb over his eyebrow. Ray leaned forward too.

"You know. _Think_. About _guys_." Ray tried to convey his meaning solely through widening his eyes, but Fraser was not picking up his signals, not at all. Of course, if Ray was trying to tell him that they had to jump off that cliff three miles away to catch some Canadian art smuggler, Fraser would know exactly what he meant.

"Ah..." said Fraser, and Ray knew that meant Fraser was totally lacking something to say that would make him sound smart. Hah, Ray had his number.

"Yeah, okay," said Ray. "Nevermind. It's just..."

Ray stopped and frowned and warmed his hands over the fire some more, and drank a little more of the now-cold soup and chewed a little of the still-gross pemmican. He stared at the side of the fire, just like Fraser had taught him, so that if someone snuck up on them and tried to kill them like they were camped out in the desert in the old west, Ray wouldn't be night-blind. Fraser knew a lot of tricks like that, tricks Ray did not know. Tricks he taught Ray. Which was okay, Ray figured, because he'd taught Fraser some tricks too -- nothing that would come in handy up in the northwesterly areas, but stuff that Fraser needed to know to survive in Chicago, like how to get out of being propositioned by a prostitute without offending her or her pimp. How to drive a car on fire into a lake full of pollution. How to go with his gut.

It wasn't like Ray contributed _nothing_ ; it was just like now their roles were reversed. But this thing, this guy thing, he didn't know why he was trying to talk to Fraser about it anyway, because if there was one thing Fraser was not, it was into guys. He also wasn't into girls, chicks, women, the ladies -- but he was even less into guys. Fraser had nothing to contribute to that discussion.

"Ray?" said Fraser, and he sounded like maybe he wasn't sure how Ray was going to respond, like maybe Ray was one of the dogs, not quite getting as much as he wanted to eat or drink, like maybe Ray would either lick his face or bite his hand and he wanted to be prepared for both.

Ray grunted, drank the rest of his soup, and filled his cup with snow for tea.

"I suppose," said Fraser, and Ray looked at him out of the corner of his eye, "that I know -- that I -- that I think about... _guys_."

"Men," said Ray. The snow in his cup was almost totally melted. He added more, and sat back.

"Men," repeated Fraser. "Yes, men."

Ray grunted again, really feeling for Fraser with the "Hm"s and the "Ah"s because what else do you say when there's nothing else to say? Ray didn't know, didn't really care either, because no matter what he said either Fraser would understand or he wouldn't understand and there wasn't much of a trick to that.

"What do you think about that?" Ray finally said, because he couldn't stand the quiet, just the crackling of the fire. He leaned forward and snagged his cup. It was barely halfway full, but it was warm. Ray didn't even bother to add the tea bag, or to put in more snow; he just drank the warm water.

Fraser coughed a bit, sipped from his own mug. Ray stared at him. Then Fraser looked up and stared back and said, "I think it's interesting, Ray."

"Interesting, huh?" said Ray. Fraser's eyes looked like he was making fun of Ray, but his mouth looked like his was serious, and Ray wasn't sure which to believe. Maybe both.

"Yes, Ray. Interesting."

Fraser's gaze was steady, so Ray kept his own gaze steady too.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm interesting."

"Yes," said Fraser. "You're interesting."

And what _that_ meant, Ray didn't know, but he could _guess_ , and he would have guessed right then, except one of the dogs started barking, and Fraser got up to fix whatever needed fixing while Ray broke down the food and banked the fire. Not much point in sitting up all night when he knew they had to get up early the next morning. Plus it was cold. It was so cold. It was fucking March and Ray was freezing his balls off and he would rather be laying next to Fraser, stealing all of Fraser's body heat, than sitting outside drinking tea that smelled like shit and chewing dried meat.

Fraser was still over by the dogs when Ray was finished and ready for bed, so Ray left Fraser's rocks in the fire, took his, and crawled into the tent. He pulled off all his clothes, hung them up over the hooks Fraser put special into the tent, and put the hot rocks into his boots. By the time he was done, he was shivering, so he crawled into the sleeping bag and. Thought about guys. Men. Stared at the top of the tent, at the clothes hanging out to dry.

Ray didn't remember falling asleep, and he didn't remember Fraser crawling in beside him, but when he woke up, it was just like every other day, so those things must have happened.

The next night, when they were eating rendered moose fat, or something equally as disgusting, Fraser said, "I hope you don't think I think less of you for your preferences, Ray. That was not what I meant to convey at all. I also don't think of you as -- well, as someone to _observe_ , that was not --"

"Fraser," said Ray. "I was pretty sure that when you said 'interesting', you didn't mean like an amoeba."

"Yes, Ray." Now Fraser was definitely making fun of him. "I find you more interesting than an amoeba."

"You know, Fraser, I am having a life crisis here! You could be a little more sympathetic!" said Ray. He flung the rest of his tea onto the snow, left his rendered moose fat, and stomped away. Tried to, anyway, and got stuck in the snow, and waded away, toward the dogs. He flopped over next to Dief, who sniffed at his face, then curled into his body.

"Nice to know someone appreciates me," Ray said into Dief's ear. Dief whuffed at him. "Stupid."

Dief sent him back to Fraser right when it started to get really really dark, and Ray stumbled back through the snow. The fire was banked and everything was tied down, and Ray's rocks to dry out his boots were ready for him. He took them, went into the tent, and stripped down. It was dark in the tent, and cold, and, as usual, Ray shivered before he slid into the sleeping bags.

"Ray," said Fraser, and Ray jumped a little, because he thought Fraser was already asleep. Fraser never had a hard time sleeping. Ray laid awake all night, half stroking his half-erection, half falling in and out of dreams about skiing next to the dogsled, while Fraser slept perfectly still.

"Fraser," said Ray. He could feel Fraser laying next to him, feel his body heat, even feel his breathing. Feel his chest expand and contract.

"I do find you more interesting than an amoeba, Ray," said Fraser.

Ray rolled over to face him. They were both wearing hats, and looked kind of silly, but Fraser had explained that it was important to keep the heat in. They had hats for during the day, and while those dried at night, they had hats for sleeping.

Life in the arctic was fucking weird.

"Yeah, whatever," said Ray. "That's a shitty thing to say."

Fraser looked like he was really trying hard to keep his temper, so Ray had to keep pushing, because maybe if Fraser lost his temper, Ray could lose his temper, too, and just -- just -- do _something_.

"That's a shitty shitty thing to say," repeated Ray. "Gee, thanks, more interesting than an _amoeba_? You might as well have said, 'Ray, you're a boring fuck.'"

Fraser bristled -- because Ray said fuck? Or because Ray said that Fraser would say fuck?

"Ray --" said Fraser, and Ray cut him off.

"No way, Fraser. No way do you get to say that. How would you feel if I said that to you? Couldn't you have just said, 'Okay, I'm not interested? You're interesting but I am not interested, Ray, thank you kindly, and also did you see that polar bear over there?'"

"Ray, there are no polar bears --"

"Or maybe you could have not even said that I'm interesting!" Ray was almost yelling now, had his hand out, pushed Fraser's shoulder. "You didn't have to bring it up again! I was just -- I was thinking out loud, Fraser, I was just _thinking_!"

"For God's sake, Ray!" said Fraser heatedly, and Ray pulled his hand back and then Fraser pushed _him_.

"For God's sake, Fraser!" said Ray, and leaned forward to push Fraser again, and then Fraser leaned forward -- to push Ray again? -- and then their faces were together. Ray knew his was red, and his mouth was tight and he was frowning, and so was Fraser, frowning, and his mouth was turned down.

"We _can't_ ," said Fraser against Ray's mouth. "We can't, we can't, oh, God, Ray, we can't," but it was too late because Ray could and he was going to, and he _was_.

This, this was a life changing experience. Right now, with Fraser -- this was where Ray's life was going to change.

Fraser's mouth was slick and tasted of wax and fat. His teeth were sharp. Ray ran his tongue over Fraser's tongue, and then over the roof of Fraser's mouth, and then around Fraser's gums. Fraser's hands were on either side of Ray's head, holding Ray's head still, but Ray's mouth moved over Fraser's, and Fraser let him. Fraser let him push Fraser back, onto his back, let Ray move over him, and Ray was _sweating_ , shivering from something entirely different from the cold, not just _thinking_ but doing and moving, rubbing his cock against Fraser's hip, rubbing his hip against Fraser's cock, rubbing his mouth against Fraser's, changing _everything_.

  



End file.
